


Kiss Me Like You Mean It

by Lunafeather



Series: Kiss Me Like You Mean It [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunafeather/pseuds/Lunafeather
Summary: Collection of Fills from Kiss/Action based writing prompt lists. Updated as new prompts are filled.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Kiss Me Like You Mean It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726165
Comments: 17
Kudos: 149





	1. You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foxmagpie Said: 15. You're Mine Kiss

The thing about Elizabeth is, she’s absolutely _oblivious_. For someone so smart, so sharp, so calculating, the amount of things that go swooping over her head is astounding.

Usually when it comes to men.

And maybe he shouldn’t be surprised, considering her dumbass ex was cheatin’ on her for years, squandering all their money, and she had no clue. But the fact that she misses the way men -- and women -- drag their eyes over her body, smile flirtatiously with her, touch her _innocently_ , still always baffles him. She has a mirror, she loves looking at herself in it, she knows, deep down, that she’s an attractive woman. But when people make a move on her? She’s none the wiser.

And that shit gets real aggravating after a while.

Especially cause these people see the two of them next to one another and assume there’s no way they could be together.

They’re at some strip mall food court, spending the day shopping for Emma’s birthday party (princess themed, of course) and taking a break to get some lunch, much to Rio’s relief -- Elizabeth had insisted he needn’t come, that she didn’t mind shopping alone.

( _"You always start whining at the one hour mark,” she’d huffed, hands on her hips._

_His mouth dropped open, offended. “I don’t_ whine _.”_

_Her mouth twisted. “Mhm.”_

_“‘Sides, it’s a nice day out, we both been cooped up in this house lately.”_

_She watched him, wary but considering. There’d been a lot of work logistics to go over, and the kids had been home from school for back to back school holidays. They hadn’t had much time alone, either, for that matter…_

_“Are you sure you want to come?”_

_He rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”_

_“You won’t get bored?”_

_That’d earned her a look, cause she was using her mom voice. “I think I can keep myself entertained, Elizabeth.”_

_She’d finally shrugged and grabbed her purse.)_

He _doesn’t_ whine, but he does start gettin’ impatient, gettin’ handsy and coquettish, waiting for the perfect moments where they’re briefly alone and he can slide his hand down to her ass, or inch his fingers up her waist to her breasts. He leans into her ear to tease her, asking if she wants to check out the fitting rooms with him, reminding her of the fun they’ve had in public bathrooms, suggesting they go back to the car and neck like teenagers.

She always blushes and swats him away, her eyes flicking from stranger to stranger, hoping they aren’t watching or listening. He knows she’s turned on though from the way that blush creeps down her neck to her chest, inflaming those delicious freckles that tease him. Especially today, when she’s chosen a low cut neckline that displays her cleavage -- a rare but prized treat.

Honestly, he has zero interest in shopping, in party planning, in wandering through store after store after store, picking out the perfect presents and decorations, little surprises for her sweet and dainty daughter (prim, too, like her mama) -- he only agrees to these outings because of the aforementioned taunting, but also because he loves watching her mind work, loves seeing that brain puzzling out a problem and then her eyes shining when she works out a solution.

It gets him goin’, in all sorts of ways.

Plus he really likes just bein’ around her.

He left her at a table in the middle of the cafeteria, swallowed by shopping bags, promising to find her a chocolate shake and cheese fries. He’s not even gone ten minutes when he turns the corner around a large, overflowing planter to see some guy -- some tall, stocky, pasty _dad_ looking mother fucker -- leaning against their table and looming down over Elizabeth, what Rio guesses is supposed to be an inviting smile on his face. Her hands are folded demurely in her lap as she giggles a little self consciously and shrugs at something the guys says.

Even through his annoyance, he can’t help but smirk at how fuckin’ _awkward_ she is.

And how much he loves it.

He shakes his head at himself. He’s got it bad.

He saunters up to the pair and promptly deposits their tray on their table. Elizabeth immediately turns to him with a relieved little, “hey!”. Rio makes eye contact with the guy, gives him a curt nod, and then cups her jaw, tilting her face up and bending to kiss her, firm and passionate. His lips rub against hers, her mouth opening in surprise, and then she’s sighing into it as his tongue curls against hers. By the time he pulls back, his hand is in her hair and her fingers are curled into the lapels of his jean jacket, pulling him against her and arching up into him, her eyelashes fanning her cheekbones against the brushfire of a blush that’s erupted there. Rio grins at her, then straightens up to face the intruder.

The guy has the decency to look abashed and beyond embarrassed.

“‘Sup man, how’s it goin’?”

Dad-bod stutters a little, and then looks at Elizabeth. “It was -- it was nice talking to you.”

She _mmhmms_ and watches dazedly as the man turns and leaves.

Rio waits for it, feeling it coming, and then --

“What the hell was that about?”

He rubs his thumb along her lower lip and watches her eyes darken. “Just protectin’ my assets, darlin’.”

She reels back, unsure if she should be offended or not. “Your _assets_?”

He licks his lips in that way he knows both drives her crazy and pisses her off, letting his eyes fall to her ass and then biting his lower lip. “Mmhmm.” She opens her mouth in protest, but he cuts her off with, “Got you your shake, from that place you like.”

He knows by her pointed glare that she’s gonna bring this whole thing up later, but he thinks he can get her pinned up somewhere, maybe against the side of his car, and make the discussion a whole lot more fun.


	2. Exhausted Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Said: Exhausted Parents Kiss

They’d thought they could handle the Zoo, if they made sure to stick together and stand united against any kid rebellion. They’d made a plan, they’d assigned roles, they’d broken almost every minute down to a specific routine. And, to be fair, the day had started off well enough.

But an hour in and the dominoes started falling, knocking into each other, stacking and stacking until there was utter chaos -- Emma’s feet had started hurting, and Beth reminded her that she had chosen these frilly, half-translucent jelly sandals, that she had warned her that they would likely not be comfortable for a day of walking, but Emma had been stubborn and demanding, hands on her hips and heels firmly planted, her chin jutted out and blue eyes steely (Rio had happened catch the expression and had to hide his chuckle; “She definitely got that look from you, mami,” he murmured to her later, after helping Emma into her booster seat. Beth had not been amused), so she had conceded and informed her that there would be no complaints later if her feet  _ did _ start to hurt. Emma’s eyes had sparkled and she’d thrown her arms around Beth’s thighs, smiling sweetly up at her with an equally saccharine, “Thank you, Mommy!”

Danny had started to get overwhelmed, clutching Beth’s hands until it hurt, refusing to let go and melding to her side, ignoring her attempts to distract him with her fingers ruffling through his hair or by excitedly pointing out the animals in their exhibits.

Kenny cycled violently between skulking and thoroughly enjoying himself the entire time, teenage hormones beginning to rear their ugly heads. And then, noticing Danny shyly hanging back, Kenny had launched his attack, mocking Danny for “being a baby”, for “needing his mommy”, for being “a scaredy cat”. Rio had sharply told him to knock it off, leveling him with that Dad glare, mixed with a little Gang Leader for emphasis, and Kenny had backed down -- only to slide up into Danny’s space and whisper his insults in his ear.

All of this, of course, led to the finale in their travelling circus -- Jane, climbing on top of a fence lining the pathway, her jacket arms tied around her neck so that it billowed out behind her like a cape (Beth had, in this case, put her foot down about Jane’s outfit choices. She had mostly outgrown her capes and her lack of pants, but occasionally she relapsed, especially if an event seemed exciting and ripe for adventure), tipping her head back and  _ screeching _ , like Tarzan -- only filthier -- all while Marcus danced around her, hooting and shrieking and egging her on. Rio had swooped in immediately, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch Jane before she took off, taking two big steps along the fence top, losing her balance, and launching herself off in an attempt to save face.

Beth had shrieked as she went down and Rio had yelled, and every eye in a fifty foot radius was trained on them, strangers appalled and worried and annoyed. Marcus retreated to hide behind Beth as Jane inevitably hit the ground too hard, her momentum flinging her forward onto her face. Rio had scooped her up just as she rolled over and burst into gasping, wailing tears.

Kenny had hovered on the edge of the disaster, looking embarrassed.

As Rio carried Jane back to Beth, the Pièce de résistance -- Danny had jerked hard on her arm, demanding her attention, but of course Beth had brushed him off, was trying to drop his hand so that she could check Jane for any serious damage, but he had latched on and tugged even harder, desperate for her attention, his voice tight. Beth turned with a sharp  _ what, Danny? _ On the tip of her tongue when he opened his mouth and puked, the contents of his stomach spilling against her fitted t-shirt and dribbling down her jeans.

Pandemonium, of course, had ensued.

Now, finally pulling up to the house -- their trip cut short, for obvious reasons -- Beth heaves a long, exhausted sigh. She and Rio had herded their children to the van where they cleaned Danny and Jane up, and then they’d bickered about what to do with the vomit covered clothing. Danny stripped his shirt and settled in the back of the van with Kenny, too embarrassed to complain. Rio insisted Beth wear just her jacket over her bra and that she take off her pants, that the smell would be too much if they didn’t pack the clothes away, but Beth had pushed back -- she didn’t have any spare pants. After a heated stare down, they’d compromised: Beth would wear her jacket over her bra, but would leave her jeans on and cover her lap with his jacket to smother the smell. He’d crowded her into the open passenger’s seat, using his body to shield her in the vast zoo parking lot, but immensely enjoying the view. Even weary and frustrated, he had a one track mind. Beth’d rolled her eyes.

She drops heavily out of the passenger seat and helps Rio unbuckle the three youngest from their booster seats in the middle row. Marcus keeps his head down, ashamed and contemplative, scuffing his shoe and meandering to the front door. Emma stares with wide, glassy eyes first at Rio, then Beth, her lower lip sticking out and about to tremble, but Beth cuts  _ that _ off with a hard head tilt, and sends a now solemn Emma on her way. Jane whimpers pathetically, swipes at her snotty, running nose with the back of her hand, and when Beth reaches for her, she shrinks away, sad little wounded animal noises curling in the back of her throat. Beth opens her mouth to ask her what’s wrong -- then snaps it shut, biting her lip as Jane lifts her arms towards Rio, asking him without words to carry her inside. He sweeps her up and settles her on his hip without complaint.

It makes something deep inside Beth clench.

Danny and Kenny get themselves out, and both hurry to the house -- Kenny impatient to get on his computer, Danny thoroughly humiliated by his reaction to the crowds and the chaos, and his state of undress. Beth, with no children to transport, retrieves the stuff from the trunk, prepared to soak and wash their soiled clothes. Danny at least lets her press a kiss to his hair and squeeze him against her side as Rio unlocks the door.

“Kenny, upstairs. Got that book report you gotta finish before tomorrow.”

Kenny rolls his eyes at Rio, groans. Ultimately drags his feet up the stairs to his room anyway.

“Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower before dinner, okay?” Beth grips Danny’s chin between her thumb and index finger, tipping it up so she can meet his eyes.

He looks away, nods, follows his brother.

Emma has already disappeared to her and Jane’s room. Marcus hovers in the foyer and rubs at his arm, too unsure of himself to commit to one direction. Beth ruffles his hair and points him towards the den. “Why don’t you go and pick out a movie for you and Jane to watch, Sweetie?”

He nods, his face lighting up with that charming, sure-to-break-some-hearts smile and dashes off.

Wandering into the living room and then the dining room, grabbing stray, discarded socks and pants and --  _ underwear?  _ Beth wrinkles her nose in disgust -- to add to her spontaneous laundry load, she approaches the kitchen, hears Rio murmuring to Jane, “But we gotta be quick, aight? Sneaky. Like a ninja. Can you do that?” She pauses on the other side of the wall, listens as the fridge opens and closes, as cupboards and drawers open and close, as silverware clatters against dishes. Jane giggles and hums, as Rio shushes her. When Beth finally steps into the open, Rio and Jane -- sat on the island counter -- freeze, spoons in their mouths, bowls filled with ice cream, the carton open and abandoned next to them.

Rio looks at Jane, sighing. “Looks like we got caught red handed, darlin’.”

Jane clutches her bowl closer, growling like a rabid animal. The effect is shattered by her toothy grin suddenly erupting across her battered face.

“I’m gonna go throw all of this in the wash and get changed. Does she need any band aids or anything?”

“Nah, mama, I think she’s good.”

Beth purses her lips. Scrapes and cuts are sprinkled across her baby’s forehead and nose and cheeks, her hands and knees, and okay, maybe they really don’t look too bad, but you can never be sure. She leaves to dump the duffle bag -- a purple one, meant for family, not Book Club -- in the washing machine, stripping her jeans and jacket off and shoving them in, too, then changes into a pair of comfy leggings and a soft oversized t-shirt that she pulls from the dryer. Then she grabs the first aid kit from the laundry storage and steps back into the kitchen.

When Rio sees the white box in her hands, he scowls at her. Beth shrugs. She is who she is.

He clears their dishes, rinsing them and setting them in the sink, while she methodically cleans and then applies antibiotic cream to Jane’s wounds. She holds out two band aid options for her daughter to choose from.

“Those ones!” Jane points to the creepy crawly themed ones, covered with all sorts of bugs.

Beth laughs, because of course. She carefully presses bandaids to Jane’s knees, palms, and wrists, leaving her face bare -- the last time she had tried to put a bandaid on her face, Jane had screamed bloody murder and thrashed like a fish caught on a hook. Beth had learned her lesson.

“All done!” Beth smiles, replacing her supplies in the first aid kit. She leans to lift Jane into her arms.

“No! Rio!”

Rio catches her eye, nodding. “S’cool, mama, I got her.”

Beth doesn’t know if she should be offended or charmed by Jane’s insistence on her preferred caretaker.

She tucks Jane’s hair behind her ear, the opening theme for Despicable Me starting from where Marcus is huddled on the couch. “Go sit with Marcus and watch the movie, okay?”

Jane nods. Rio kisses Beth’s cheek as he passes.

She decides now is likely the best time to shower, while the house is quiet and before she passes out from exhaustion. When she’s done, she goes upstairs to check on her three oldest, finding Danny drawing on his bed, freshly bathed and already in his jammies; Emma barefoot and dancing, twirling and delicately jumping, singing lightly along to whatever soundtrack she has playing; and Kenny on his computer -- slyly trying to minimize some online game as Beth opens his door, pretending he’d been working on his homework all the while, but he chuckles awkwardly, caught, pinned in place by Beth’s disapproving scowl. She sets him straight and returns to the ground floor.

What she stumbles on sends warmth snaking up the back of her neck, across her shoulders, down her spine. Marcus is curled up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep. Rio is on the opposite end, head tipped back and eyes closed, Jane wrapped completely around him like a spider monkey, straddling him with her knees on either side of his hips, arms tucked against his sides, head nestled into his chest as she snores softly. Rio’s hand is pressed to her back, holding her against him. Beth stands on the stairs and gapes, awed and -- yep, definitely charmed, not offended by the sight. She tugs her phone from her back pocket, rounding the couch and inching closer in hopes of silently capturing the moment. One, two shots, she’s about to zoom in when --

“Better not be doin’ what I think you’re doin’,” Rio growls.

Beth grins and circles behind the couch. She bends over the back, kissing him on the cheek, rubbing her nose through his beard and burying her face in his neck.

He grunts. “Never doin’ that again.” She figures he means the Zoo.

She giggles against his skin. Kisses the closest wing of the eagle tattoo, scrapes her teeth against the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he rumbles.

“Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. He huffs a laugh.

She lifts herself away from him, finding his eyes open and earnest, and that warmth from before swells. She leans down again, brushes her lips against his, smiles when he tilts his head to give her a better angle so it’s not so much an awkward sorta spiderman kiss, and instead a pleasant slightly sideways melding of their mouths. She licks at the seam of his lips until he lets her deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers and groaning. When she bites down hard on his lower lip, he jerks away.

“What’d I tell you?” But he isn’t angry -- his voice is rough like sandpaper, making the hair on her neck stand up.

She presses in again, but this kiss is chaste. She burrows again into his neck. “Honestly, that’s all I’ve got in me right now.”

Rio laughs quietly. “Yeah, I feel that.”

Silence falls over them, save for Gru eagerly describing his newest evil invention. Rio turns to inhale the scent of her hair, letting the curls engulf him.

“I’m going to send those to Annie and Ruby.”

He stiffens. “Nuh.”

“Mmhmm. I have to, I have no choice.”

“Elizabeth.”

That night, they’re both too tired to do more than make out a little in bed before passing out.

Rio wakes her in the morning with his hips grinding into her ass and his teeth teasing her pulse point, his energy restored and his appetite thriving. Beth welcomes it, lets it swallow her whole.


	3. Frosting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hereliesbethboland Said: Beth teaches Marcus to cook or sew or something craft related and Rio watches unnoticed at first.

He hears them before he sees them, the clatter and scrape of silverware against bowls, water rushing in the sink, Marcus’ elated giggle. As he edges closer, Elizabeth says, “Lift your elbows, don’t want to get frosting on your shirt, huh?”

“No way,” Marcus says solemnly. “I don’t think Daddy would like that.”

“Probably not.” A pause and then, “Let me get you a stool, okay? That way you’ve got a better view of all your hard work!”

“But you helped!”

She laughs, loud and tickled. “I did. But the dinosaurs were your idea.”

Rio leans to look around the corner from the hallway to the kitchen, smilin’ when he sees Elizabeth help Marcus up onto the child’s step stool, curling her arms around his shoulders and her fingers around his little hands, keepin’ him from squeezing the frosting bag too hard in his excitement.

“Okay, let’s do the outlines on the--”

“T-rexes!” he shouts, twisting to grin up at her, flashing his teeth.

Elizabeth grins back and boops his nose with her finger. “You got it.”

She helps him trace the borders of each cookie, patient and warm, at one point propping her chin on the crown of his head and lettin’ him do one himself. Rio slides his hands into his pockets and rests his hip against the wall. Somethin’ bright starts coiling in his chest, snaking up his shoulders and dropping to his belly, like a supernova unfurling light and fire through him until his fingers are tingling with it. He wants so badly to stride over and touch her, pass this spark to her, watch it ignite in her eyes and her throat and on her skin. But he doesn’t. He hovers and watches, enjoyin’ the show.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

She swaps the green frosting bag in his hands for the blue. “Mhm?”

“Are me and my daddy gonna live with you soon?”

She freezes, startled by the question. Marcus doesn’t notice, just keeps squeezing frosting onto a cookie. Rio watches her eyebrows furrow, unsure how to answer. “I don’t know, honey, do you want to live here?”

They’d discussed movin’ in together very briefly, more of shared quick thought, somethin’ to consider. They definitely hadn’t decided anything.

And he sure as fuck ain’t gonna move into this white picket fence, Suburban Mom fantasy house.

Marcus takes a long moment to think about it, rocking his mouth from side to side in consideration. “I dunno. Daddy says that your house is like ‘a goddamn circus’ where all the animals got loose. And he said you have a big clown!”

The look of absolute disbelief and offense on Elizabeth’s face, combined with the innocent way his son presents the observation hits Rio right in the gut so hard that he throws his head back and guffaws.

“Daddy!”

Marcus ducks under her arm and sprints, flinging himself bodily into Rio and wrapping his arms around his waist. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is completely still, disapproval etched into her sharp frown.

“Hey, Pop,” he says as he rubs Marcus’ head, smilin’ mischievously at Elizabeth through his lashes. “Hey, Mama.”

She sniffs and looks down her nose at him.

“Whatchu up to, little man?” Rio unlocks Marcus’ arms from around him and leads him back to the kitchen island. “Yo, you make me some cookies?”

“Yeah! We made some T-Rexes, and some Stegosauruses, and --”

As Marcus lists all of the shapes they made and the colors they used and breaks down every step of their afternoon, Rio presses himself against Elizabeth’s side, buryin’ his nose in her hair, pointedly ignoring her frosty glare. His exuberant affection catches her off guard, though, melts her ice. She turns into him and raises her hand to scrape her nails through his beard until he hums and kisses her, cupping her jaw and holding her in place so that he can deepen it, his other arm curving around her back.

“Ewwww, Daddy!”

They break apart, Elizabeth already flushin’ in embarrassment, both of them looking down to see Marcus watching them through his fingers.

Before she can pull away, Rio drags his finger against her forehead, tucking her hair behind her ear and pinching gently at her chin. They don’t really talk about their feelings, it’s not who they are, but he hopes she can feel that supernova swirlin’ in his chest, hopes it seeps into her, too.

And by the way her eyes sparkle, he thinks that spark caught and flared.


	4. 4/7/28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnisntevendead Said: OTP Meme, Brio, 4, 7, 28

**4\. Favorite non-sexual activity?**

He realizes quickly that she doesn’t just bake for her kids’ sake, she bakes when she’s angry, she bakes when she’s sad, she bakes when she’s stressed, she bakes for every possible holiday – even the made up, fuckin’ stupid ones, she bakes as an apology, she bakes to suck up, she bakes as a weapon.

She even bakes for fun.

So he learns just as quickly that if he wants to be around her, a lot of that time will be spent in her kitchen, pressed up against her back as she mixes, nipping down her neck as she spoons portions out before baking, watching – chin in hand – as she rolls and cuts and spices. She’s good at what she does, has expertly streamlined her processes, and it’s – it’s weird, it’s so fuckin' weird, but it _turns him on_. She goes into full boss bitch mode without even realizing it.

It helps that everything she makes is fuckin' amazing.

She tolerates him draping himself over her (she enjoys it, he knows she does, even if she denies it) because he is a willing test subject, eagerly devouring whatever new creation she concocts. He even helps her sometimes, if she bats her eyelashes just this way, or rolls her hips back against his groin just that way, or pushes up onto her toes and kisses him breathless that way she has a habit of doing.

And she even pays him back for his help, for his patience, by letting him put on whatever movie or tv show he wants and listening to him tear each one apart with icy criticisms and sharp condemnations, shutting him up as necessary with more of those kisses.

* * *

**7\. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?**

If he thought it was impossible to not touch her before, _now_ it’s like two magnets resisting their natural polarity. He starts to find any possible excuse to drift into her space, to let his palm find her hip, to breathe in her scent, to brush his nose against her hair or his finger against her cheek.

He just wants to be near her, wants to watch her smile stretch her lips, wants to hear that tinkling laugh, wants to see that blush explode across her skin.

Jesus, he needs to get a fuckin' grip.

When the urge to touch her _all the damn time_ starts to get too intense, he pulls away, distancing himself, acting cold, ignoring her texts until she calls him out of pure frustration. He’s like a moon orbiting her, swinging closer into her atmosphere before gravity sends him away again. And yet, every time, he spends more and more time near her. He shows up at her house just to say hi (though he, of course, frames it as a drop in on her operation), orchestrates their paths “coincidentally” crossing, gives her more and more drops and more and more fake cash to wash.

She simply watches him warily, confusion etched onto her face.

\- 

It hits her like a lightning bolt, cascading like sparklers across her skin from the top of her head down to her toes, and when it does, she runs.

They’re chatting in her backyard, sitting on her picnic bench, thighs and shoulders pressed together, laughing and joking and talking about anything but work. She gets a full belly laugh out of him (on purpose, this time) and turns to grin at him – and she’s struck, frozen, caught by the gleam of his teeth and the dark fan of his eyelashes and the rosy brightness of his cheeks. It all leaves her completely breathless, his laughter tingling at the back of her neck. When he calms a little and meets her eye, his grin fades to something softer, something affectionate and… and… _yearning._

Rio reaches a hand up to her face, dragging his pinky against her forehead and down to her chin, a path that it knows all too well. This time, though, his thumb comes up to brush against her low lip and she’s – she’s –

She’s _happy._ She feels wanted, and cherished, and warm.

And it scares the _shit_ out of her.

So she runs.

She can see the disappointment in his eyes when she pulls away, can see the confusion and the hurt – and she doesn’t want to hurt him, god no, but these feelings are so intense and so powerful and they feel so _right_.

And there’s no other option but to avoid him, after that. She’s embarrassed by her instincts to flee, she’s terrified that he doesn’t feel the same, she’s not _worthy_ of this kind of connection. She keeps their meetings as brief and formal as possible, refusing to meet his eye, escaping as soon as she can. She refuses to meet with him alone, too scared of what she’ll do if she’s left to her own devices.

In the end, fate intervenes, somehow locking them in an elevator together – and she wants to die, right then and there, trying not to absorb the anger and distance and _hurt_ in his eyes as he watches her from the opposite corner.

She doesn’t know who’s to blame except herself when she eventually launches herself at him, her frenzied kisses turning into muttered apologies and explanations and confessions, and then he’s kissing her slowly, agonizingly slowly, torturing her with it, and she knows she probably deserves it, but it’s okay, it’s okay, she’ll take it.

* * *

**28\. What do they do when they’re away from each other?**

He’s never really considered himself a sentimental man, which is why he’s surprised that when Elizabeth leaves him her pearls, he tucks them safely away in a box shoved to the back of one of his dresser drawers, somewhere he knows Marcus won’t touch, somewhere he knows no unsuspecting woman will stumble on them and shower him with questions he can’t answer.

They remain undisturbed for months, almost forgotten – but every once in a while, his thoughts stray to the off white, almost pink tinted string of pebbles. He doesn’t take them from their refuge until the day he finds himself in her van, her panic over the FBI nipping at the edges of his patience, her wide eyed faux outrage at his suggestion that she tell Turner they were fucking striking him somewhere deep and twanging in his belly. He’d seen her blush spread from the curve of her cheekbones and spill down her neck to her collarbone, and his mind had immediately pictured those pearls there, clutching at her throat, kissing her skin the way he had increasingly felt the urge to.

He had gone home and carefully plucked the necklace out and let each pearl slip between his fingers, imagining her fingers between his instead, her strawberry blonde hair, the curls between her thighs….

If asked, he’d deny it vehemently, but whenever she does something that pisses him off, or makes him proud, or throws him completely off, he takes her pearls and winds them around his knuckles. When she wears a dress that frames her breasts like works of art, when she smiles at him like he’s the sun, when she teases him with her lips on his jaw and a bruise left in offering instead of her body – he moves the pearls from his closet to his bedside table, too often wandering into the small room now for it not to be suspicious to his son.

He doesn’t bring other women over anymore, so that fear is gone as well.

His boss bitch is the only one with him wrapped around her finger, like her pearls are wrapped around his.

-

He’s only gone for a day when she just can’t resist anymore. She dials his number as she wriggles into a comfortable position in bed, sighing deeply as sleep tugs at her mind. She’s sure this’ll seem desperate, that he’ll be annoyed, but she doesn’t care, she just wants to hear his voice, even if he’s upset –

“Miss me already, huh?”

Ahh, there it is, that honey thick warmth sliding through every one of her limbs as his low timbre croons in her ear. Her toes tingle, even.

Still, she can’t resist – “No. Not at all.”

“Nah?”

He doesn’t believe her; then again, he’s always been able to tell when she’s lying. She just didn’t realize that ability had extended to just hearing her voice and not watching her for her tells.

“Nope.”

Rio just hums, and he _has_ to know what that sound does to her – she whimpers a little, tries to stifle it in her palm before it reaches her cell phone, but he definitely heard it if his throaty chuckle is anything to go by.

“I was just making sure you weren’t getting into any trouble.”

“That right? Gotta keep me in line, huh?”

“Mmhmm. God only knows what you get up to when I’m not around.”

“Probably get a lot more work done…” he mutters.

Beth sits up, affronted. “Excuse me?!”

“C’mon, mama. You know how distractin' you are.”

She smiles, remembering the day before yesterday in his office when they’d been working side by side on separate business plans and she’d been unable to resist sliding her foot up his calf. It had turned into a game of him half-pretending to be annoyed and huffing and ended with her bent over the desk.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh sure.”

They fall silent, listening to each other breathe, and it takes Beth a moment to realize she’s grinning brightly. She rolls onto her side, eyes falling on the pillow that his head occupies more often than not, these days.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she admits quietly.

He doesn’t say anything at first, and she’s on the verge of apologizing and backtracking when he says, softly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang up.”

“What?”

“I said, hang up. Then don’t answer.”

“What are you–”

There’s a click, and the line goes dead. She holds the phone away from her face, looking at the screen just to be certain, and yep – he hung up on her. She’s about to dial him again and rip him a new one when her phone starts ringing. It’s him, calling back. Her finger hovers over the answer button, but she pauses, considering. Let’s it go to voicemail.

She waits a few minutes, surprised that it takes at least that long for her phone to ping with the notification of a new message. There isn’t time to listen to it before he’s calling again, and this time she answers.

“What was that?”

She can basically hear him shrug. “Just somethin’ to help you out, when you’re dyin’ from missing me so much.”

Beth rolls her eyes.

She listens to it later, smiling and curling into the pillow that smells a little bit like him. The voicemail is perfect, even if it is just Rio slowly explaining in minute detail every way he intends to touch her when he gets back, drawling over every word in that way he knows drives her crazy.

Maybe _because_ that’s what it is.


	5. 2/23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Said: otp question meme! brio for 2 and 23

**2\. Big spoon/Little spoon?**

It’s so natural for him to press up behind her, notching his dips to her curves, his arm curling over her waist and his hand coming to rest on her sternum. The first time it happens, she freezes, surprised, not expecting him to be the type to cuddle while sleeping, but then he’s rubbing his nose into her hair and against her neck, sighing deeply as he settles, and she relaxes into him, letting out a slow breath as they sink into her mattress.

And it just keeps happening like that, no words, no acknowledgement, just Rio moving until they’re nestled like two puzzle pieces, and sometimes his hand curls against her collarbone and sometimes its flat on her belly, and sometimes – rarely but becoming less so – his hand is over her heart.

She surprises him one day when he’s on his back and her head is on his chest – she lifts off him just enough that he has space to roll onto his side when she nudges him. He goes easily enough – which is the surprise for her – a small furrow between his brows as he wonders just what she’s doing, but then she’s molding her curves against his back and slipping her thigh between his, dragging her nails against his pecs and then his abs, fingertips dancing along the trail of hair on his belly. She giggles into his shoulder when he groans, but then she settles, rubbing her nose against his neck the way he does to her, sighing when his smell lulls her into slumber.

She wakes him up with her nails on his skin, this time firm with intent, moving to tug him from sleep as deliciously as possible, nipping at his shoulder blade when he stirs.

And maybe he should have known she’d pay him back for all the times he’s awoken her by grinding his morning wood into her ass when their positions are reversed, and yet – and yet he doesn’t mention it. He continues to curl around her like a cat more often than she gets to, but Beth doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t mind at all.

* * *

**23\. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?**

He watches her with amusement through eyes more heavy lidded than usual, tequila having softened his edges and made him warm and pliant and lazy. She’s just as drunk, if not more so, standing in front of him with a glass of bourbon in her hand, swaying to some crooning pop love song, grinning at him with sparkling blue eyes.

She twirls a strand of hair around her fingers and saunters closer, giggling, “You come here often?”

His smirk is affectionate. “What’chu talkin’ about, Mama?”

Her lips pull into a pout. “ _Rio_.”

He leans back further into the couch, curious about what’s going on in that beautiful brain, and flicks his hand to tell her to continue. Her smile returns.

“Are you lost? Cause heaven is a long way from here.”

Rio’s smirk widens, despite his attempt to smother it. She edges a little closer.

“You spend so much time in my mind, I should charge you rent.”

“Oh yeah?”

Her grin is dazzling. It almost takes his breath away. She steps between his knees as she says, “We’re not socks, but I think we’d make a great pair.”

His hands find the backs of her thighs, tugging her until she’s against the couch.

“You think?”

“Mhm.” Her fingers drag along his arms, soft against his skin as she slides down to take his hand. “Your hand looks heavy, lemme hold it for you.”

He huffs on a laugh, intertwining their fingers and pulling her onto his lap so that she’s straddling him.

She leans down until her mouth is hovering inches away. “Your lips look _so_ lonely, would they like to meet mine?”

He doesn’t wait a second longer to surge up, but the kiss he greets her with is soft and slow, brushing his lips slowly against her until she’s melting into him. She deepens the kiss, swiping her tongue into his mouth to curl against his.

When she breaks away, gasping, she nips across his jaw to his ear, and he can feel her smiling as she whispers, “Is that a gun, or are you just _very_ happy to see me?”

He groans at that, long suffering, and it sends her into a fit of giggles, her face against his neck as she laughs. She radiates joy, a lightness he hasn’t seen or felt in a very long time, and something inside him clenches. He likes seeing her like this. He tugs at her hair with one hand until she leans back to look at him, still breathless with laughter. The look on his face or in his eyes must startle her because she sobers suddenly, caught by him and his gaze.

A heavy pause, and then, “If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together.”

It takes her a moment to register what he’s just said, but then her face is splitting open on a huge grin, eyes alight with glee, and she’s kissing him senseless.

The next morning, she swears she doesn’t remember a thing – except for the scorching lovemaking that happened on the couch… then the floor of the hallway to her room… then in her bed – but _Rio_ does, and he stores away her rare giddiness in his memories, to be called upon later.

Probably to torture her with.


	6. Fuck You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inyoursheets said: 9 for the kiss prompts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set Post S3.

It becomes a routine:

Put the kids to bed, stay up prepping their lunches for the next day, entertain Dean until he finally collapses onto their air mattress, then sneak out when he’s dead asleep.

She usually drives to Boland Bubbles in silence, her mind whirring, picturing the numbers in her head and rearranging them in a way that’s believable, but profitable, in a way that her husband won’t catch on -- not for a long while, anyway.

The parking lot is empty as she pulls in, the building ominously dark. She knows its dumb, but she wedges her keys between her fingers anyway as she leaves her car and treks to the employee side entrance and lets herself in. The motion sensor lights flicker on as she makes her way down the hallway, peeking into the warehouse to make sure it all looks kosher, doing the same with the break room and then the mood room, her eyes sweeping through the one pink tinted light they leave on for good luck, and she’s just about to turn away --

She screams when she notices the shadow looming in the corner of the room, hands in its pockets, seemingly staring into the hot tub they always have filled for customers to test out before buying.

Rio meanders closer, into the light, and Beth should have known it was him,  _ of course _ it’s him, it’s  _ always _ him. Still, she presses her palm to her chest, against the harsh thudding of her heart.

His eyes track the movement with interest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses.

He smirks, that dumb, handsome, terrible and infuriating smirk. “That any way to greet your boss?”

Beth rolls her eyes and stalks away, not waiting for him. He won’t answer her, and he’ll eventually follow her to the office planted in the center of the show room. She doesn’t have the time nor the patience to entertain him.

He appears in the doorway a few minutes later, leaning his hip against the frame, and she has to resist the urge to look up from the papers in front of her to properly take him in -- but she can see him in her peripheral, sees the black beanie tugged low over his ears, the charcoal grey button up shrouded by the black coat with the one white button hole, the loose black jeans and the black and white sneakers.

He’s found a color scheme he likes and stuck with it, and she can respect that -- her brain chooses to focus on this thought instead of the overwhelming surge of want that flows through her, the frustration prickling at her skin -- frustration with everything that’s happened between them, frustration with this business not being hers, not  _ really _ , frustration with how fucking beautiful he is. He’s taken to sporting a full beard lately, trimming it instead of shaving, and it drives her to distraction when they’re in the same room together, many times Rio just staring at her while she tries to fight the blush at the memory of that beard against her thighs, of her fingernails running through it.

The worst part is that she’s convinced he knows  _ exactly _ what it does to her.

All of this lust, all of this attraction, had been a lot easier to keep at bay when she was convinced he was going to kill her at any moment, reap his revenge with three matching holes --  _ his and hers _ \-- blasted in her body, and when she was consumed with the desperation for survival, convinced she needed to get rid of him first to save herself.

This stalemate of theirs makes it too easy to slip.

So she ignores him.

She can  _ feel _ him smiling at her.

Still, she’s the first to break the silence.

“How did you get in?”

Rio shrugs, doesn’t answer.

She didn’t really expect one anyway.

“You worried about bein’ all alone in this big warehouse in the middle of the night, baby?”

He smiles when she glares at him.

“Maybe if you told me how you got in, I’d be able to keep the place more secure.”

His eyes are dark, framed by those thick, long lashes. “Nah, where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Well, if you didn’t need anything, I’ve got some work to --”

“Why you keep coming here at this hour anyway, Elizabeth?”

Her brows furrow. “How did you --”

He tilts his head, gives her a look.

“Are you still having me followed?” she splutters.

He shrugs again, faux nonchalant, sticking his lower lip out and then pursing his lips.

“I thought we moved past that.”

“Oh, what, you think I’m s’posed to trust you, after everything?”

Beth tips her chin in defiance. “I mean, I did bring you this idea--”

A bark of laughter, devoid of amusement. “Nah, sweetheart, that’s not how it works and you know it.”

Her mouth settles into a hard line, and she lets her expression go blank. “Fine. But if that’s all --”

“You never answered my question.”

She can’t help it, she squawks, indignant. “I’m sorry, when the hell have you ever answered --”

“Why you keep comin’ here in the middle of the night?”

“Will you let me  _ speak _ _?_ ” She’s not proud of losing her temper, never likes to let her emotions slip around him, especially not now, so she balls her hands into fists in her lap and tries to channel her anger into them.

Rio watches her, waits for her to say something else, but she doesn’t have anything else, was mostly annoyed at him cutting her off. His eyebrows hit his hairline.

“Oh, that it?” He takes three long, slow steps towards her, his fingers sliding along the edge of her desk -- well,  _ Dean’s _ desk, but just for now, just until she can wiggle her way in -- stopping at the corner and leaning over it, hands splayed. “Cause I thought maybe you were gonna tell me why you sneakin’ around  _ your _ business, fudgin’ numbers. Why your husband still thinks he runnin’ the game and callin’ the shots.”

Beth swallows. “I told you, it’s going to take some time for me to convince him to let me handle the books. He can’t know you’re involved, or he’ll --”

“He’ll what?” Rio sneers. “Go runnin’ to the cops, the FBI? He still refusin’ to see you’re the one who bossed up and pays the bills, huh? Guess what, darlin’, I shot him once, nothin’ stoppin’ me from doing it again.”

She’s not sure what reaction he’s expecting, but she has a feeling that her cool indifference isn’t it. He squints at her.

“If you let me take care of him, it won’t come to that.”

“I ain’t got time for you to try to pussy whip your dumbass husband --”

“ _ Excuse me _ _?_ ”

“You should be pullin’ in way more cash than you are, so I’ma need you to stop gaggin’ on Dean’s dick and get your shit together --”

She’s up and in his face before she realizes what she’s doing, jabbing her finger into his chest. “How  _ dare _ you!”

Rio snatches her hand and holds it away from them both. “Don’t.”

His voice is rough, a warning, but she doesn’t catch it, blinded by her fury.

“You don’t know anything about my marriage, about what I’ve had to do, what I’ve had to sacrifice!” Flailing wildly, she yanks her hand from his and goes onto her toes to get onto his eye level, waving her hand in his face and prodding him again.

“Elizabeth,” he growls.

“I will not let you degrade me, or treat me like --”

And then his mouth is on hers, effectively shutting her up. The kiss is rough, angry, desperate and filthy -- Rio’s hands cup her ass and lift her onto the desk, then slide up her back to mold her body against his, her breasts wedged against his chest and spilling out over her v-neck sweater. Beth wails into his mouth and clings to his shoulders as he steps between her thighs. He ravages her mouth, alternating rubbing his tongue against hers and sucking on it. She sinks her teeth into his lower lip hard enough that she thinks she tastes blood, and he groans and twists his fingers into her hair to yank her head back and expose her throat.

“You think about my tongue in your mouth when you kiss him, mama?” he says against her skin, sucking a hickey below her ear.

She scratches her fingernails against his scalp, helpless in his arms and writhing against him. One of his palms lowers to her ass to hold her in place, not allowing her to seek out any friction.

“You close your eyes and pretend its my cock fillin’ you up, makin’ you beg?”

Beth moans as his voice vibrates against her ear, pleasure singing down her neck and across her shoulders, threading through her spine and pooling at her tailbone. He grinds his hips into hers, and she can feel how turned on he is.

“He can’t make you come like I can, huh, baby? Gotta wait til he’s passed out and touch yourself, but your fingers aren’t enough, are they? Can’t reach inside you the way mine can.”

Those fingers clench in her hair, forcing her eyes open to meet his stare, his eyes dark fathomless, drawing her in and smothering her. She tries to lean forward, to kiss him again, but he keeps her still.

“He ain’t me,” he growls. The words tumble out from his lowest register, like he pried them from deep within himself, from a place he never lets see light, dripping with possessiveness and pride, and maybe even hurt.

She shakes her head. “He’s not you.”

Almost like he doesn’t want to hear it, like he’s already said too much, revealed too much, he crushes his mouth to hers again, and this kiss feels like a punishment and a plea. Beth lets it consume her.

And just like that, he’s releasing her, both of them panting as he steps back, putting some space between them and looking at her like she’s hexxed him, woven a spell to lure him, tempt him. And then the mask is back in place.

“You got a week to get your husband in line,” he says as he wipes their spit from his chin with his sleeve. He turns to leave, but stops in the doorway and looks over his shoulder. “And you better get a gun if you gonna be spending this much time here alone. Need to protect yourself.”

She arches an eyebrow at the implication under those words, that she needs to protect herself from  _ him. _

Beth’s got a feeling that his intentions are a little less murderous and a lot more carnal.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll empty the clip this time?”

His responding grin is slow, feral, like he’d been hoping she’d say that.

“Nah.”

And then he’s gone.


End file.
